Hands
by Lily H. Potter
Summary: Sometimes you don't need to say anything at all, just let the hands tell you the story.


I was actually reading a story over at when I got this idea, and it was based off of Harry and Hermione holding hands. So the original idea goes to whomever wrote that first. Hart is so sneaky so I assume nothing for upcoming episodes (lol). But as always I do not own Bones, and of course enjoy!

Hands. Hands are what make us who we are. They are what bind us together, what make us human, and what give us independence. They can be harsh or comforting, warm or cold. They can tell you what type of person you are and what type of person you can become. They are the link that gives us our humanity. Without them we would all be adrift, searching for something to grasp, to hold, to love...

It was her hands that gave her away. How could something so important betray her in such an unforgivable way? Angela was the first to notice. She _knew _that Angela knew, but she held her tongue and waited. Angela would not let this one slip. Thoughtfully, Temperance Brennan wondered just how long Angela had been watching her with such scrutiny. It was well past working hours when Angela came into her office and sat down on her couch. They stayed in silence for a bit as Dr. Brennan finished up her paperwork and organized her desk. Resisting the urge to let out and exacerbated sigh and turn Angela away, Dr. Brennan finally made eye contact with the waiting artist.

"So are you going to tell me how long it has been since you fell in love with Booth?"

Dr. Brennan blinked a couple of times, pausing to contemplate her answer.

"I think that I have loved him from the moment we kissed in that stupid bar. I just didn't understand that it was love I was feeling at the time." Dr. Brennan regarded Angela with about as much scrutiny as she did the remains on her table. Wanting to not miss a moment of how her friend would react to her statement. What she got was face marred with sadness and pity. She hated pity.

"Oh, Sweetie-"

"Don't, Angela. Don't pity me. By the time I realized what it was I was feeling, Booth had found Hannah, and I am fine with that. She makes him happy, she can give him things I cannot."

"Bren, don't you realize that you can give him everything he wants? You just have to let yourself." Angela was trying her best to encourage her friend. She wanted so desperately for her to be happy.

" Ange," Dr. Brennan paused, a pained expression crossing her face. "I just..." Her voice trailed off as to her utter horror tears began to try and push their way through her tough exterior.

"We will talk about this another night." And she would. Dr. Brennan knew she was not going to have a choice in the matter if Angela had anything to say about it. As Angela left she placed a hand on her shoulder. A hand, simple and ordinary, gave so much away: the comfort of a friend, the hope that this would be resolved, a notion that perhaps all of it could be easily fixed, all with just a hand on the shoulder.

She knew that one day she would have to tell her everything: the stupid bar, the airport, mistletoe, nights of take-out, his coma dream, LasVegas. All of it. She idly wondered if Booth noticed that her hands shook every time he came into the room, or that every time Hannah was mentioned they would ball up into fists, or when he talked about them, their partnership, if he could see how she would always rub them on her pants, desperately trying to get rid of the clamminess that stuck to them like mud. They were things she noticed, things she hated about her hands. She was so good at not showing emotion, it was unbearable that something as simple as her hands could give her away. Her hands, that have held so much, helped so many and betrayed her heart with the simplest of movements. How could they?

It would be weeks before she thought of her hands again.

The case involved a child; those were always the worst. It had taken them longer than she felt it should have to find the cause of death (poison). She had desperately wanted to tell the poor mother something, anything, and it crushed her heart, nearly as bad as Booth telling her about Hannah, when they figured out the mother was to blame.

Dr. Brennan was sitting in her office, staring at her hands when Booth found her. He paused outside her door and watched her in silence. She traced the lines of her palm, up her fingers, and back down to her palm. Her face was stoic, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Booth cleared his throat, giving her a chance to collect herself, as he walked into her office.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

He nodded his head in affirmation, then took his usual seat on the couch. He waited for her to make the move. He stared at his own hands as the clock ticked by slowly. It was a while before Booth looked back up at Dr. Brennan. He was surprised to see tears streaming down her face. In a heartbeat he was next to her, and she nearly fell out of her chair and into his arms when he went to comfort her. They both collapsed to the floor, Booth's arms tight around the distraught doctor. They stayed like that for a good while: long after the tears had dissipated, long after his foot fell asleep, and long after the hug was necessary.

"I always thought that my family was screwed up," her voice was calm, void of the tears that had plagued her earlier, "but I do not think, however much I hated them at the time, I could resort to killing them." Booth nodded into her head and pulled her tighter to him.

She began to trace his shirt pocket. It gave her something to do as she tried to process why this case in particular had her so riled up. She found it slightly ironic that Booth was here to pick her up again, even with Hannah around.

"What is Hannah going to say when you come home smelling like another woman and a wet shoulder?" She found that she was terrified at the notion that Booth would tell Hannah that she had been crying all over him.

"I don't know. We're not together anymore." His voice was stoney and Dr. Brennan knew better than to push the subject, Booth had taught her that.

"She didn't like the quiet here, and that is what I enjoy most." He sighed as if he had just taken a load off his shoulders.

"I am sorry, Booth." She sincerely was. She went back to tracing his pocket, but his hand captured hers before it could. He intertwined his fingers into hers, and brought them to his lips, kissing each knuckle of her hand. She stared at him, sure he could feel the sudden change of the rhythm of her heart as it sped up with every kiss.

"Come on, Bones. Let's get you home." He gently pushed her off and stood up, offering her a hand as he did. She grabbed it, and they both knew she was not just grabbing a helping hand or even the hand of a friend (even though he was the best one she had). She was grabbing a life line. He had been that so many times for her that she knew she would be lost without him. She did not want to tell him that she was happy that Hannah had decided he was not worth the stay, that secretly she had been wanting him to choose her, even though she would never have made him choose.

They made it to his car in silence. He opened the door for her, but she made comment. She was content to let him take the lead, to take care of her. He quirked his head but said nothing. When they got to her apartment she welcomed him up, and he acquiesced.

They walked up the stairs hand in hand, she leaning into him. The warmth that he provided her started at her hand, traveled up her arm, and reached her soul. She knew that there could be nothing better. She realized that when he spoke of love, and emotions that she did not understand, this is what he meant. It all boiled down to a pair of hands, interlocking, connecting, loving. He felt it; she felt it. She planned on never letting go again. She did not want to be that person anymore. She trusted him with everything, and he gave her everything.

Maybe not now, maybe not even a while from now, but at some point she knew he was it. There was no one else. They would both wait for the timing to be better, the commitment to be there. All it took was a hand reaching out into the dark to help her find her way. His hand.


End file.
